


Defense In Your Absence

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Arguing, Bittersweet Ending, Dehydration, Experimentation, Fainting, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Heat Stroke, Hospitalization, Impatience, Loyalty, Near Death Experiences, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pre-John!Sherlock, Sleep Deprivation, Social Experiments, Stupidity, Texting, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock convinces Lestrade to be part of an experiment, but when it ends up going dangerously too far they realize there are things they need to get into the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defense In Your Absence

_Bugger. Bloody soddin’ bugger_.

“Tell me why you dragged me out here again, Sherlock?” Greg Lestrade sighed, glaring against the hot sun at the span of nowhere where he’d been cursed to preside. “And why you’re not here to tell me in person?”

“ _I’m performing an experiment_ ,” Sherlock sighed back, adopting Lestrade’s irritated tones. “ _You have to be there and I have to be here in order for it to work_.”

Scoffing, Lestrade peeled his sweat-slicked phone from his equally sweat-slicked face and checked the time on it. “Well, this better not be a long project cos I’ve only got three bars and I do _not_ want my phone to die when it’s only eleven o’clock!” Not only that, but yesterday had been quite a busy workday and he had gotten perhaps an hour or two of sleep. Yet when Sherlock had called and given him a place to go he had popped right off to it. The things he did for his consulting detective…

“ _Oh, it shouldn’t be long, Lestrade_ ,” said detective was assuring him. “ _Well, probably. I’ll join you soon_.”

Lestrade’s eyebrows rose when he heard a click on the other end. Blinking as sweat rolled into his eyes, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and began to pace. Something close to an hour passed and he jumped when his phone rang once more.

“Has it gone on long enough?!” Lestrade barked into it immediately.

“ _Where are you, boss?_ ” Donovan demanded. “ _We need you on an attempted robbery back here_.”

Lestrade felt his face grow even warmer than before and he tugged listlessly at his collar, inhaling dryly. “Oh. Donovan, I’m…doing somethin’ for Sherlock right now.” _Though I haven’t the foggiest what it is_ , he finished in his mind. He shrugged out of his coat; he could practically feel Donovan’s usual disgust oozing out of the phone into his ear and it was making him feel disgust _ing_.

“ _Well, how long is it going to take? Like I said, we need you on this_.”

“I don’t know how long,” Lestrade answered shortly. “Someone’s beeping in, I should take it.”

Sherlock. “ _Detective Inspector, this experiment might take a bit longer than I thought_.”

“Really?” Lestrade remarked in clipped tones. “Turns out I’m the one waiting. What’s your definition of ‘soon’, Sherlock? When are you coming?”

“ _Just keep waiting_ ,” Sherlock ordered. “ _I’ll_ get _to you!_ ”

The sassy git actually had the nerve to sound quite fed up, though Lestrade had barely scratched the surface of complaining. This encouraged him to dig in a little deeper. “You _better_ get to me, Sherlock Holmes, cos it’s bloody hot out here and I barely slept at all last nigh—”

Click, the attending ear vanished. Anger poured over him and Lestrade focused on taking deep breaths, but that just made him feel thirstier. There was no way he was going to let Sherlock have the last word, therefore he opened a text message to him. Even in anger he was too polite, he realized as he found himself typing quite the row of profanities and then deleting it all. At last he sufficed for short and sweet:

**_Come soon, MY definition of soon_ **

**_GL_ **

and managed to send it just as his phone dropped to two bars. Glad that there was no one to hear, he whined a little and spun in a circle, seeking a shady area and finding none. Bugger Sherlock, couldn’t he have cursed Greg to wait in a garden? Or better yet, in his own office? This place was an inferno. An infernal inferno. He needed to call a cab to get him out of here, but he recalled the first cabby’s annoyance at driving so far to get to this nowhere and wavered. He didn’t want anyone annoyed at him right now, especially because his own irritability could easily match it.

“And Sherlock would never forgive me if I interrupted his experiment,” he muttered spitefully, gritting his teeth at the pain that flared in his temples. Trying to swallow and finding no saliva to do so, Lestrade gingerly massaged the bridge of his nose and continued to do so until he heard a buzz in his pocket. Sherlock’s reply.

**_Confirmed. Going to be a while longer._ **

**_SH_ **

Lestrade stared at the words, blinking hard to see if they would change. They blurred and focused, blurred and refocused, and still remained the same so he began typing a reply that didn’t do his feelings justice, even though he made sure to keep in the profanities. Before he could send it, Sherlock interrupted with a P.S.

**_How are you?_ **

**_SH_ **

As a bookend to his vulgar language, Lestrade wrote “ ** _HOT_** ” and viciously jammed the send button. The twirl of the envelope signaling the message’s travel seemed lopsided and Lestrade squinted, tilting his head to bring it back into alignment. The second bar on his phone dropped away and Lestrade felt a wave of far-delayed concern dizzy him. With that one red bar, the phone suddenly felt much heavier and he lowered his arm, fumbling to put it back in his pocket. When his fingers wouldn’t cooperate, he dropped it onto his coat, which he’d abandoned on the ground nearby.

If only he’d brought water…If only he’d driven his own car…If only he hadn’t come at all! If the heat hadn’t been suffocating, drying the moisture from his body, he could’ve cried. Laughing faintly at that thought, he sank down on top of his coat and stared into the open space.

What could the experiment be? Lestrade considered each viable explanation for a long time, ignoring the pressure in his head, and then discarded them all. Anything he considered viable would probably be stupid in Sherlock’s standards. How did anyone even get a brain like that anyway? If he were Sherlock—

If he were Sherlock, Lestrade scoffed. He couldn’t even begin to step into the shoes of his detective. No one could, except _maybe_ Mycroft Holmes. That train of thought was interrupted when his phone rattled against his foot. Lestrade stared at it dubiously when it refused to stop. _I should answer that_ , he realized at last, laughing breathlessly as he brought it to his ear and then remembered to press the button.

“H’lo?”

“ _You better get back_ ,” Donovan hissed. “ _The boss isn’t happy_.”

“Aren’t I your boss?” Lestrade mumbled.

“ _I’m talking about_ your _boss! You’re taking way too long with the freak’s little project, it’s nearly three o’clock!_ ”

“It is? Oops.”

“ _Boss, honestly, he looks like he’s about to herniate in your office!_ ”

“Oooops,” Lestrade repeated stupidly, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his aching head on them. “You try to explain to a cabby how to find you in a bloody oven.”

“ _You’re—where?_ ”

“You an’ Sherlock have good timing,” Lestrade commented as he heard the familiar beep-in. “Gotta take it.”

“ _No, ignore the freak and call the cab!_ ”

Ignoring Donovan instead, Lestrade answered Sherlock’s call.

“ _Lestrade, are you still there waiting for me?_ ” Sherlock demanded curtly.

“Yep, still here. When you come, would you please bring me a drink of water?” Lestrade pleaded very politely. “My head is killing me.”

The annoyance disappeared from Sherlock’s voice. “ _I—Are you alright?_ ”

“Thirsty,” Lestrade told the thick air, fisting his fingers into the fabric of his coat to reorient himself. “I’m really thirsty and it’s bloody burning here.” Down a long tunnel of oppressive heat, he heard Sherlock shouting his name and then echoing—echoing— _echoing_ …

 

There was another echo. Beep, echo, beep, echo. Lestrade listened to it, feeling quite comfortably cool. He’d forgotten how nice that sensation was. He took his time opening his eyes and when he did the first thing he saw was a pale set of hands planted on the end of his bed. Lestrade’s eyes trailed upward and he saw Sherlock, leaning down to meet his gaze.

“You came,” Lestrade whispered. For some reason that made Sherlock look away and straighten to his full height, clearing his throat.

“You suffered extreme heat exhaustion, nearly stroked,” Sherlock said quickly, bustling about almost like a nurse, checking the IV Lestrade hadn’t realized was there until now. “Passed out while we were on the phone, so I brought you here to the hospital.”

Lestrade tried to breathe evenly. He had never really liked hospitals; in fact he had never liked to admit he even had an injury, but he tried to remind himself that Sherlock had been kind enough not to just dump him in a bathtub somewhere.

“Does everyone else know?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, I contacted Anderson,” Sherlock spat the name like the plague, “and told him and Donovan the situation. They’re on their way.”

“Okay.”

The silence between them stretched on, Lestrade’s unasked question hanging in the air and Sherlock’s answer tightly suppressed. Lestrade figured they probably wouldn’t talk again until the next case, but he fought against sleep nonetheless. The way Sherlock was looking at him—rather, _wasn’t_ looking at him—was different. He seemed…almost insecure.

“Thanks,” Lestrade tried, noting how Sherlock winced, “for getting me here.”

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock ground out.

“Alright,” Lestrade sighed, struggling to sit up straighter, much to Sherlock’s dismay. “What’s wrong?”

“I nearly caused your death,” Sherlock snapped. “And yet you’re stupid enough to thank me for it?”

“I didn’t thank you for that,” Lestrade countered. “I thanked you for _saving_ me from it.” What on earth was that flash of pain in Sherlock’s eyes? Was he actually worried for him? Should Lestrade be angry as Sherlock seemed to suggest? He tried to muster some anger, if only to appease Sherlock’s deserved guilt, but couldn’t find any.

There was another silence and then Sherlock shook his head briefly. “Donovan and Anderson will be here soon.” With that he pivoted and strode toward the door.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade called after him, causing him to stiffen to a halt. “I…want to know. What was your experiment?”

That was obviously the question Sherlock had wanted to avoid. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked in a voice just barely above a whisper.

Lestrade shrugged, smiling crookedly. “Look at me; I’m stupid.”

“Yes, you are!” Sherlock shouted as he whirled back toward him, his tone like an unexpected punch to the jaw. “That’s what my experiment was about! I wanted to see how _stupidly loyal_ you were, how long you were willing to wait out there in the middle of a bloody heatwave for me to come and fetch you!”

Lestrade’s eyes widened and his jaw fell a little. “You—That can’t be true—”

“It is,” Sherlock hissed. “I threw you out there to test your loyalty, because I definitely don’t deserve it.”

Blinking a few times, Lestrade lowered his gaze to the sheet covering his legs. He had actually waited out there in the blinding heat for five or six hours…for Sherlock. For something Sherlock found important.

“Well, now you know how loyal I am,” he concluded quietly.

Sherlock scoffed, shaking his head again. “And again I know how stupid you are.”

Lestrade didn’t watch, but he sensed it when Sherlock left and said forlornly to the empty room, “You’re welcome.”


End file.
